


Survivor's Guilt

by Marrilyn



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Flogging, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Needs a Hug, POV Second Person, Present Tense, Protective Loki, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8325784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: You feel guilty for Loki getting injured, and it doesn't take long for the God of Mischief to call you out on your strange behavior.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr.  
> http://imagine-it-like-this.tumblr.com/post/150933216999/

Loki doesn’t think much of you offering to help take his jacket off, something you usually do in the bedroom following a heated makeout session – and even then you rip it off him in hunger for his body, roughly enough that, if he were human, it would leave painful marks.

No, for once you are gentle and caring, almost, dare he say, motherly. He’s baffled, but he doesn’t comment. Everyone has an off day, he tells himself. Hell, he’d know that better than anyone. Every other day is an off day for him.

He doesn’t even blink when, after asking you for a glass of water, you rush to the kitchen and retrieve the whole bottle, when your usual response would be something along the lines of: “Go get it yourself.”

Off day, he reminds himself.

It’s when you make him dinner and manage not to burn it that he realizes that something is very, very wrong.

And he doesn’t like it. Not one bit.

“What’s wrong?” he inquires, comfortably seated on the couch as you prepare the table.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re acting strange.”

You swallow, hard, trying your hardest to keep your breathing under control. One slip of tongue, and he would find out. He would know that you’re doing this for him, and he would be angry.

Loki hates pity. He especially hates being pitied, and even more so when the person pitying him is you.

But what else are you supposed to do when you’re the reason he got hurt in the first place?

You keep your eyes down on the dishes you’re carefully sorting out, not daring to look up and meet his gaze.

You can’t look at him, not after what happened just mere hours ago. Not after what you did.

You especially can’t look at that nasty, painful-looking gash adorning his left cheek, reaching up all the way over his eye, a red, hot mess that you, and only you caused.

Battle scars are usually sexy. Especially Loki’s battle scars – that don’t tend to even last long enough to be actual scars, for his abnormal healing erases all traces of injury in matters of mere hours.

Still, it’s different when you’re the reason he got injured in the first place. Even if it does heal soon enough, and you know it will because a mere hour ago it looked a hell lot worse, that doesn’t change the fact that _you_ are the reason he’s in pain now, and you hate yourself for even remembering the moment the whip cracked his skin.

The whip whose prime target was you.

If you’d known this would happen, you would have been more careful.

Instead, you let your guard down and stumbled, and it was Loki who paid the price.

It was him who jumped in the way and took on the full, painful blow.

And even after you, in a fit of pure, unstoppable rage, killed that bastard for daring to tarnish your trickster’s beauty, the injury on Loki’s face still remains.

His blood still remains spilled, and pain still remains stinging.

“Am I?” you say.

“Yes. Are you alright?”

So typical of Loki, to always put you first.

Like that time he got impaled upon a metal spike and asked you, bearing only a cut on your cheek, if you were okay, and comforting you when you started crying after seeing him like that.

Or the time some alien overlord asshole beat him to a bloody pulp, and the moment you and the Avengers came to his rescue he worried that you might get hurt despite, himself, being barely able to move a muscle.

Even breathing hurt him, and he still only asked about you.

That only makes you feel guiltier.

If only you’d been more careful.

If only you’d warned him.

If only…

“I’m fine.”

He snorts. “That’s usually my line.”

He’s right. Usually, it’s you pestering him about whether or not he’s feeling alright, and him insisting that he will heal in no time.

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth?” he suggests. “Aren’t you the one always insisting on it?”

“I’m not lying to you,” you tell him more firmly. “I _am_ fine.”

 _You’re the one who’s not fine,_ you think to yourself. _Why are you worried about me when you’re the one who got hurt?_

For someone perceived by the majority of people as being a selfish bastard, Loki is awfully selfless.

Or at least he is when it comes to you.

He told you once that he could never be selfish with you. You never should have taken those words for granted.

When Loki says something, he means it.

When he makes a promise, he keeps it.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he told you years ago, after coming to you with his plan to take over the world.

Many things were at stake, many risks to be taken, but he still had it in himself to make that promise.

And, after you agreed because you can’t ever say no to your beloved, he kept it. He kept you out of harm’s way, protected you, shielded you.

You’ve been apart after that, for two years, and the promise still stuck. Reunited once more because Thor needed leverage and you made for a perfect bargaining tool, he kept on protecting you.

And he’s still protecting you.

That’s forever.

“Really? Then why do you not want to look at me? Does the sight of me repulse you so that you can’t even spare me a glance?”

“What? No. Of course not,” you protest, allowing your eyes to find his for a moment; just a small, short moment before you lower them once again, staring at your trembling hands leaning against the hard, wooden surface of the table.

The gash on his face doesn’t go unnoticed. Redness circles your eyes and you sigh, swallowing back a rush of tears.

You won’t cry. Not here, not now.

Not when he’s looking at you like that, like a kicked puppy that you, yourself, helped kick.

Of course he doesn’t repulse you.

 _You_ repulse you.

“What, then?” he presses.

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

“Did you get injured today?”

 _Me?_ you tell yourself. _He’s asking me?_

He walks over to you and you sigh, averting your eyes to avoid his gaze.

“I can help you. Tell me what happened and I will fix it.”

“Nothing happened.”

His hands reach for yours; they’re warm, you notice. For a Frost Giant, his touch feels awfully human.

Tears prickle at your eyes as you finally allow yourself to look at him. The gash looks somehow worse up close, skin slightly red and swollen.

Loki doesn’t look like the injury bothers him, only stares at you, worried that something might be wrong with you.

That you might be the one in pain.

Why does he have to care so damn much?

“To me, at least,” you add.

Loki frowns. “What are you saying?”

“I’m sorry, Loki,” you break down. Tears rush down your cheeks, staining your vision as redness spills over your cheeks. “I am so, so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“You got hurt because of me.”

“What?” Then realization downs on him. His hand shoots up, his finger pointing to his wounded cheek. “This?”

You give a small nod.

“This is nothing,” Loki assures you. “It’s just a scratch. It will be gone in a few hours.”

“You still got hurt. He hit you with a whip, Loki!” you exclaim. “He hit _you,_ and it was supposed to be _me!_ He was aiming for _me!”_

“I wasn’t going to let him harm you!”

He cups your cheek and you ease into his touch, relaxing under the warmth of his tender skin.

“Do _not_ blame yourself. The choice was my own, and I would make the same one again if it meant keeping you safe.”

“I don’t like it when you get hurt.”

“I will heal.”

“It still hurts you. I can’t stand to see you hurt. I get so scared and you’re always so nonchalant about it, like it doesn’t bother you, but it should because even if it feels like nothing it’s _not_ nothing. You’re still in pain. You still hurt.”

You take a deep, steady breath before continuing.

“And I hurt because I can’t help you. I can’t make you better. I can only watch you pretend like you’re fine, and I never know if it’s gonna end up being something serious because you never tell me. Instead, you worry about me.”

A sob escapes you and you take another breath, your lungs burning as a sudden surge of oxygen rushes in.

“I watched you get beaten almost to death; I watched you get tortured, and stabbed, and whipped, and you always, _always_ asked about me first. You never even took a moment to think about yourself, about your pain. And now you’re doing it again and I’m scared. What if something seriously bad happens and you don’t tell me because you’re busy worrying about me? How am I supposed to live with the fact that I could have helped you and I didn’t because I didn’t know you needed help?”

“Y/N,” Loki breathes, “listen to me because I will only say this once. I will never stop worrying about you. I will always put you before me because I love you and I would rather die than let anything happen to you. I don’t care what happens to me. You are my only concern, and for as long as I can fight, I will fight for you.”

“I’m aware of all the risks I’m taking,” he continues. “Pain doesn’t bother me. I’m used to it. I can handle anything, _anything,_ as long as you are safe. I am a god. Not many things can kill me. Injure me, yes, but I will not die that easily. I’ve been through plenty of torment, and I know my limits. Believe me when I tell you that death is not a threat to me. You have nothing to fear. I will not leave you.”

“Even if it’s okay with you, seeing you in pain hurts me,” you say. “I just feel so… helpless. Like I should do something, but I can’t. And I want to help you. I want to make you better.”

“I understand,” he says, putting on a small smile. “And I’m grateful for your concern. But the best you can do for me is to give me time to heal. A week, at worst. That is all I ask. I need nothing else.”

“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” you admit. “But I will try. I can’t promise you that I will ever be okay with you getting hurt, but I will do my best not to smother you.”

“You do not smother me,” he says softly. “Don’t ever think that.”

“So you won’t mind if I help you out when you’re not well?” you ask. “You’re always so distant and I never know how to act. I know you hate it when people pity you, and I’m scared you’ll think that’s what I’m doing, and I just… I don’t want to overstep my boundaries.”

“I will not mind,” Loki assures you. “I’m not used to asking for help, but I will accept it. Don’t worry. I know you would never pity me. I apologize if I ever gave that impression.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s fine.”

Your hand reaches for his cheek, your finger tracing the now almost healed wound. You expect him to hiss, but he doesn’t even flinch, like the injury doesn’t bother him. Like he barely even feels it’s there.

Whatever he said, this is still your fault.

That whip struck him because he was protecting you.

You hate seeing him in pain, even from an injury as harmless to a being such as himself as a paper cut would be to you.

He can assure you that he’s alright, but that doesn’t erase the guilt pulling at your heart.

“I’m really sorry,” you say once again. “Next time I won’t let my guard down.”

“It happens to the best of us.”

“It shouldn’t have happened to me.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t blame you. You shouldn’t blame yourself, either. You avenged me. I happen to find that very admirable.”

You allow a small smile to creep onto your lips. “Anything for you.”


End file.
